Sheath
by i ve landed
Summary: AU, What I think would have progressed had Scott not taken back Jean Grey on Muir Island after some seriously unpleasant encounters with the Phoenix, etc. One-shot written for my friend, Laurie bunter.


**Title:** "Sheath"

**Series:** _X-Men_

**Characters/Pairings:** Jean Grey/Phoenix // Wolverine

**Rated: **T

**Summary: **AU, What I think would have progressed had Scott not taken back Jean Grey on Muir Island after some seriously unpleasant encounters with the Phoenix, etc.

**Disclaimer:** These characters and this series do not belong to me.

**AN:** This is for Laurie_Bunter who was kind enough to give me a challenge back in Live Journal land when I asked for one.

---...---

The moment she closed the door behind her, the game was on. She called it a game to soften the reality, but there was hardly anything "soft" about Logan.

No longer did her suite welcome her from a long day of research and teaching with the gentle breeze of lotus or lavender. Instead, she was blanketed with something she never quite figured out how to describe beyond the words "raw, musky" and "masculine." It was heady and consumed her in ways that never seemed possible before... Years ago, she would have shied away from something so strong and unrelenting; but night after night of sleeping with a clean-cut man and his too-soft kisses, boring demeanor and an annoying desire to restrain her from her full potential had lost its luster.

As Jean Grey ran her hand along the leather of his jacket, fingertips tickling the cold metal of the dog tags labeled "Wolverine," a silky, satisfied smile spread across her lips. This was where she belonged.

The door opened and closed behind her, a delicate "click" of the lock kissing her ear. Her sense of smell was nothing compared to his, but that heavy scent of sweat and blood and "him" suddenly became thicker. When his arms descended upon her, she closed her eyes. She could have sworn she was drowning.

A sniff followed by an appreciative growl told her otherwise. No water, no death, just her and a very sweaty Logan sheathing her body from everything simple, proper, boring and clean.

"He's still furious, you know."

She opened her eyes and raised a fiery eyebrow at the coherent shattering of silence. Did he really have to bring _that_ up? Especially now?

"He made his choice." Her words were the truth, more cold, solid and razor sharp than the adamantium in his body in the middle of winter.

"He's still pissed."

She could feel his rough fingertips tracing the length of her torso while his teeth left a mark on the pale column of her neck. Anger dissolved into arousal.

With a hard thud, Logan's head hit the substantially reinforced wall. He silently thanked Professor Xavier's cautious engineering before opening his eyes to meet the fiery gaze before him. He intentionally provoked her and she had responded naturally and without restraint. It was something, he knew, she hadn't been able to do with Scott.

Flames danced in her eyes, in her hair, as she smirked bitterly. "He's pissed because he's weak." Jean, or more likely Phoenix, inched her face closer to Logan's. He locked eyes with the woman before him, not caring which incarnation was doing the talking. They were one and the same, after all. He gasped when her warm tongue ran over his lips. "You think you're any better?"

"Yes." He whispered it without hesitation, his hands running down her thighs before lifting her hips to meet his. She could set him on fire, drive him to Hell and back... That his body endured it time after time spoke volumes. They were made for each other.

"Prove it."

She wasn't begging. It was an order.

Too bad he wasn't keen on following orders. As her hands tore at his shirt, her frantic fingers working at his pants, Logan grabbed her wrists. Using all the momentum he could muster, he pivoted his hip, using it to pin her against the wall. It was a bold move. For any other man, it would have been a dangerous one. But Logan wasn't any other man, and her attempt at a whimper wasn't going to deter him from what needed to be said.

"I was patient, Jean. For years, I told you what I wanted and, for years, you insisted you had made your choice."

Her eyes narrowed to thin slits. He could feel the heat of her anger, her need and frustration. Before Jean could do or say anything, Logan spoke again. "When Scott decided he'd had enough, _I_ was the one who came to you. You've thrown me through walls and ripped me to pieces, over and over... So tell me, Jean, don't you think that's proof enough?"

Logan's dark eyes were narrowed now. He could feel her pulse slowing, her muscles relaxing and the fiery wings of the Phoenix dissolving into cool air. Jean slumped, her red hair hiding her eyes from the man who had played the role of lover since Scott's unexpected decision on Muir Island.

He expected her to snarl, to fight, to glare at him heatedly before throwing him against the wall, fucking him senseless and leaving him for carrion...

Logan _hadn't_ expected her poor posture, messy hair and mind-numbing silence. That he was still standing seemed like a miracle until her beautiful face slowly looked up at him. "Prove it," She whispered, her voice trembling like her body against his. Her eyes met his, full of apology, pain and the realization that he was right. He held his breath as she struggled to find her voice. "H-hold me, Logan."

His arms were around her in an instant, his face buried in her hair, causing him to close his eyes and revel in her scent. She didn't fight him, didn't brutally use him or punish him for being sentimental. This was Jean, _his Jean_, not the mousy girl Scott Summers dated or the primitive Phoenix he shared a bed with four nights out of seven. As long as she wanted him, Logan wasn't going anywhere. After all, what good was a weapon without its sheath?


End file.
